The Merle Story
Chapter 1: Unwelcome Company
Sasha closed her eyes and shook her head; then, she looked again. She thought she was seeing things. What she saw could not have been more real. Standing, just barely, on her front porch, was Merle Dixon.
Sasha closed the curtain of the side window, then leaned back against the door. She looked up to the ceiling and folded her lips in. The second knock came while she still had her back against the door. She was reluctant to open it, she wanted to leave the barrier of the door in place. The third knock was louder, more insistent - Sasha would not be able to remain behind her barrier; she would have to acknowledge the knock and the knocker. She took a deep breath and turned the knob. When she opened the door, Merle spoke first.
"Where's he at? Get him," came his breathless demand.
"He's not here, Merle," Sasha told him. She was unfriendly and impolite-on purpose. Her expression, her tone of voice, her body language, all made clear her attitude: Don't want company, especially you.
"He tell ya to say that? He's always here. Go on, girl; get him." Merle spoke with what could only be described as difficulty. He was panting; his voice was strained and low.
As he spoke, Sasha noticed Merle was supporting himself by leaning on the door frame. His other hand was not visible. He held it close to his body, beneath his black leather jacket. His breathing was heavy, he looked pale and he was sweating. And, Sasha saw blood-bright, red blood-drip through his fingers onto the porch.
"Merle! Are you bleeding? What happened?" Sasha asked. "How'd you get here?" she asked him, noticing for the first time that she had not heard and did not, now, see, Merle's motorcycle. "Oh, my God! You are! You're bleeding!" She reached out toward him, trying to pull him inside. He rebuffed her attempt to help him and repeated his previous demand, "Get him." Sasha started to tremble. Then, her heart skipped a beat, as a sobering thought pushed through the fear: Daryl wasn't there. "He's not here, Merle! Come inside! Let me help you! What happened? Did you wreck your bike? Please, come inside!" she spoke with panic in her voice.
Merle Dixon was Daryl's older brother, older by more than a few years. Sasha knew very little about him. . .had only seen him a few times, and those times had not been pleasant or friendly. Merle didn't like the idea of Daryl and Sasha being together. Sasha thought he blamed her for the rift in their, his and Daryl's, relationship; he did. Merle was not shy about his attitudes and beliefs. He voiced them, loudly and without diplomacy. And, she was not the kind of woman a Dixon man should choose. She was black-young, smart, and beautiful-but black. Thinking about that "conversation," about the words Merle had said to her, made Sasha cringe: "He jus' want a lil' taste of brown sugar. Ya know, country boy like 'im a little brown sugar ever now and then. Get a taste for some ever once in a while. Jus' gettin' 'im a lil' taste s'all." His words were lewd and crass and racist; he held nothing back. He made it clear to her exactly what he thought and how he felt about her being with Daryl.
Sasha made it clear to him that his opinions were disgusting. She stood up to him-stood up for herself, and for Daryl. She stood up for her love for Daryl, Daryl's love for her, their love for each other:
"You know what, Merle? Fuck you! You are so disgusting! You make me want to vomit!" she was almost yelling. "Don't talk to me like that! You need to just stop! You are way out of line! How can you be so hateful? I love Daryl! Why don't you believe that? And, whether you like it or not-he loves me! I believe that! You can't stop him from loving me. You can't. And, if Daryl wants me, you sure as hell can't stop me from being with him with your insane bullshit!"
Merle's "bullshit" was both simple and complex at the same time. To Merle, not only was Sasha black, but she was in a different class than Daryl and him. And for Merle, that clear distinction between classes was more of a barrier than race. It was fixed and rigid and real and impenetrable. He told her that he knew what she thought of people like him and Daryl-knew she thought of them as "trash." Their "kind", his and Daryl's, didn't mix with her "kind". Not in the open, anyway. He had nastily told her she was "just slummin'. . .gettin' your pussy licked by a white boy,"-she, he said, "was jus' wit' him for stories to tell all the stuck-up bitches" she knew; "to laugh at 'im," with her friends behind his back; that she was "fucking Daryl for entertainment purposes only." His words made her skin crawl.
Before she could dissolve into tears in front of him, she had ended their "conversation." She stood, mouth agape and speechless. "You son-of-a-bitch," she shook her head to hold back the angry tears, "You are so hateful." She glared at him through tearful eyes. "So hateful; I feel sorry for you." Later, alone and wrapped in Daryl's poncho, she had cried until she fell asleep.
That memory was ugly; it felt as dark as Merle's words. He had drawled out the words for effect, to intensify their impact on Sasha's heart-to wound her spirit. Racist, bigoted words Daryl had not heard. Words that she had never told him. It would only make things between the brothers worse. And, as distasteful a person as Merle was, he was Daryl's brother. Now, he stood on her porch bleeding and desperate-he had to be to come there. Merle was out of options (Sasha was his one and only option.) and out of opinions. He needed help-her help. He did what she said: he came inside.
Merle made his way to the kitchen bar and sat on one of the bar stools. "You got whisky?" he asked Sasha. Sasha stood stock still, staring, almost in shock. "Don't stand there lookin', girl! You bes' not faint, or some bullshit like that! You got whisky?" he repeated.
"Yeah, yeah...uhh, let me get it," she stammered. She came out of her dazed state and walked past Merle to get one of two bottles of liquor she had in her house: Tequila and bourbon. She set the bourbon on the bar and turned to get a glass. "Umm. . .a glass, just a . . ."
"Open it," he demanded. "Don't need no glass."
Sasha opened the bottle and set it in front of him. Merle drank a long draft of the amber-colored liquid. The movement caused him considerable pain. He was in agony. He grunted, then lowered his head to the counter. Sasha's panic returned. Blood oozed through Merle's fingers, the pain forcing him to lessen the pressure on whatever wound he had.
"Merle, let me help you. . .take you to a hospital!" her voice was raised though it was inadvertent. She was shouting without meaning to.
"Hell, no! No god damned hospital! GD doctors - motherfuckers. . . a bunch of damn quacks! Merle returned to his questions about Daryl's whereabouts. He needed to know, and the distraction also helped him manage the pain. "Where's he at? You two quits? He somewhere cryin' 'cause you quit him? I see his bike, but not his truck. You tell him to git the hell on?"
"No, Merle," Sasha told him with open annoyance. "He's working. He had stuff to do at the shop." She reached out for her phone. "I'll call him," she said with relief, suddenly remembering that Daryl was just a phone call away. "I hope he has his phone out there with him." Please, God, let him answer, she thought. Daryl sometimes ignored his phone if he was involved with something. Sometimes he could not hear the ring if he was using machinery. Sasha was silently praying that neither of those two possibilities were true.. She pressed the icon for his number and continued her silent prayer. She needed him to answer; she was scared.
Her heart dropped. With each unanswered ring, Sasha's panic grew. Merle noticed the look of panic spread over Sasha's face. She ended the unanswerd phone call. Merle set the bottle of whisky down and dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. "Aww, hell, girl," Merle drawled. "Don't worry. Baby brother love that brown sugar. Jus' wait a while; he'll be callin' you."
Chapter 2: Brother's Keeper
Sasha couldn't wait; she knew things were deteriorating for Merle. She grabbed clean dish towels and pressed them into his side. "Let me help you, Merle," she pleaded. "You're bleeding bad. Are you shot?" Again, she asked, "What happened?" He sucked in air, hard, as she pressed the towels into the unseen wound. Her face was at chest-level. She felt his body tense and he gripped the edge of the bar. "Not shot, cut,"-this time, answering her. "Let me look," she said. He shook his head, emphatically, "No. Jus' leave me be!" he shouted-not at her, but at the pain.
"Merle, let me help you! Please!" she begged. Merle took another huge swallow of the bourbon, looked at her and nodded. They both let out a huge sigh of relief with that battle in the war over. Sasha helped him to his feet. . .and Merle let her. She slid her arm around his waist so he could lean on her for support and pushed himself up to standing. "This way," she said. "In there." She gestured with her head toward the bedroom.
With her help, but, with great difficulty, Merle walked the few feet to Sasha's bedroom. She now saw that Merle also had cuts on his face and a split lip and the beginning of a black eye. He had been in a fight. When they made it to the bedroom, Merle paused. "Can't lay in that bed. It's your bed; where you sleep. . .don't wanna get blood all over. He'll kill me. . .over there. . .the little bench. 'S good enough." Merle nodded in the direction of the window seat. Sasha shook her head, "No, Merle, the bed. You can't stretch out on that window seat."
"Ain't layin' in that bed," he remained adamant. "It's your bed. . .you sleep in that bed."
"Dammit, then, lay on it!" she said through clenched teeth. Sasha placed Merle's hand on the nightstand, and left him to momentarily lean on his own. She pulled a small throw over the comforter then walked to the window seat to get another. She spread it on top of the first throw, then went into the bathroom. In her bathroom was a small linen closet. She returned with a sheet, which she partially unfolded and spread on top of the throws. "Now, is that good-on the bed? For God's sake, please, lie down!" she ordered. Merle obeyed-this time, with great relief. He was feeling faint and nauseous. He lay back on the pillows and let Sasha lift his feet onto the bed. He needed her. It pissed him off, but he did-another battle, over.
Sasha went back to the bathroom closet. This time, for towels. She came back to find Merle ashen white and trembling. Even though he was still wearing his jacket, he was shaking. Sasha put the towels down on the foot of the bed. He's shorter than Daryl, she thought. There was room left for the towels at Merle's feet. She walked to the window seat again, raised the cushioned lid and took out a full-sized blanket. She returned to Merle and started to remove his jacket. "Can we get this off?" she said to him. He nodded and raised himself so she could help him remove his blood-soaked jacket: and, with that, a cease fire..
Merle was panting as they struggled to get the jacket off. He uttered more than a few curses through the pain. With the jacket no longer obscuring her view, Sasha saw that the dish towels she had pressed into Merle's wound just minutes before, were soaked through with blood. She saw that Merle had folded a shirt and pressed it into the his injured side before be made it to her front porch. She knew better than to remove the padding. She pressed one of the hand towels on top of the rest of what was slowing the bleeding then another. She wrapped her longest head scarf around the mound of padding and tucked the end under to hold it in place. She covered him with the blanket. After a few minutes, his shaking seemed to lessen. Merle let his shoulders sink into the pillow and closed his eyes.
Sasha had been occupied with Merle, her attention focused on helping him. She was now focused on what would come next. She glanced away from Merle and over to the nightstand, where her phone lay. Her desperation growing, she picked it up.
"Didn't call you back yet?" Merle asked, seeing her check her phone-though she tried to hide it. "Did he?"
Sasha closed her eyes and gave a slight head shake. "No," she said. "He may be ignoring his phone. I told him I would be working tonight. . . doing some things for work." She said the same thing twice; she was distracted.
"Hurt his feelings, huh? Mad 'cause you had sumthin' to do 'sides dote on him. Baby girl, you gon' have to go git him. I'd go wit' ya, 'cept feelin' like I might pass out, then you'd have a bigger pile of shit to shovel, so. . ."
"No, Merle, no! I can't leave you! You were right: He'll call," she told him. "But, when?" she said aloud, as an after thought. "I know-Rick! I'll call Rick-or Glenn, maybe. Or they can go get him for me. . .for you. It won't. . ."
"Rick?. . .like hell! Don't need shit from that motherfucker! Glenn?-who the fuck is Glenn? Don't need you tellin' the whole damn world 'bout this. Gotta be you, pearl. G'won, now. Go git 'im."
Sasha felt herself losing control. She was fighting panic and tears. (She was reluctant to retreat, but was losing this battle.) "No, Merle! You'll bleed out while I'm gone! Bring him back here to your dead body?" she shook her head emphatically. "No! No way! Please, let me take you to a hospital!" she begged.
"Ain't that bad. All ready told you: no goddamn hospital." Merle's voice was starting to waver and his volume was getting lower each time he spoke. "Ain't the one you got pussy whipped. Not me you got wrapped 'round your little finger. That's the other Dixon. Not goin' to no g-d hospital. You gon' go get him, or what?"
Sasha grabbed her jacket, keys, and phone. She was done arguing. She felt the tears she had been holding back, escape. She wiped them from her cheeks with anger: anger for the situation, anger for the position in which Merle put her, anger for whoever had done this to him, and so, to Daryl, too, anger for herself-for her tears. Her words were now openly, and irreverently, angry: "Dammit, Merle! Don't you dare die! I'm not kidding! You better be alive when I get back here! If you freakin' die...if you break my sweet Daryl's heart like that. . .I swear, I will never forgive you! You had better not be dead when I get back here! You understand? You racist, red-neck asshole! He loves you and I love him. . .so I guess, (These were difficult words for her to say.) I guess I'll just. . .I gotta find a way. . .I'm gonna have to try to love you, too! I'mma go get him! So, you just better be alive when I bring him back here to you! You hear me? Don't you dare die!" Sasha put on her jacket and stormed out of the house. "Dear God in Heaven, please, don't let him die! Please, don't let him die!" she repeated over and over as she drove away.
Chapter Three: Mudbugs
When Sasha pulled up to Daryl's house, the door to the shop was closed and his truck was gone. She leaned her head on the steering wheel and talked aloud to herself and, Daryl: "You're not here? How can you not be here? I can't believe you're not here! Where are you? I'll just call him; he'll answer this time." Sasha pressed the number for Daryl's phone. He did not answer. She tried to calm herself. She decided Daryl must be somewhere with someone working on something-a bike, a car, a truck, a boat-something. Sasha was acutely aware of how much time had passed since she had left Merle, alone and bleeding, at her house. "Almost twenty-five minutes. . .I gotta get back!" She tried to recall what Daryl had said to her when they talked earlier in the evening. What did he tell me? What did he say? He was aggravated 'cause I was gonna be doing stuff for work. He was mad-mad 'cause I had stuff to do for work. He wanted me to go somewhere, do something, with him. That's why he decided to work.
"Damn it, he's not here!" she said aloud. "He has to be at Mudbugs."
The night had gone from bad to horrible and was moving toward disastrous. Merle was at her house, alone-maybe bleeding out. Daryl was out of pocket, not answering his phone. And, now, like a lamb to the slaughter, she had to go to a backwoods biker bar: Mudbugs. Sasha hated Mudbugs.
Sasha pulled up to the full "parking lot" of Mudbugs. It was usually full; tonight was not an exception. The space that served as the parking lot was all gravel and dirt, no pavement. She scanned the vehicles that were there, looking for Daryl's truck. She didn't see it among the trucks and cars there. "Oh, my God! He's not here. No, Sasha, no," she said trying to calm herself, "maybe he rode with somebody. He has to be in there," she said to herself.
It had been almost forty-five minutes since Sasha had left Merle, she was keenly aware of that. Mudbugs was a place that she would never venture into alone; she came only when she was with Daryl. She could waste no more time hesitating, she had to act, do something. She went inside.
Sasha walked around Mudbugs. He has to be in here. she thought. She walked past staring faces and through clouds of cigarette and marijuana smoke, the distinct smell of beer and pungent smell of meth. She walked past the bar and back to the pool tables where she and Daryl would sometimes join a person or two who Daryl could tolerate. Sasha's heart sank; there was no Daryl. She held back the panic and tears and tried to think what else to do, where else to look. Time was against her; she would have to call Rick, who would immediately go into "cop mode". That was the one thing Merle had asked, the one thing he didn't want - Rick Grimes involved. What else can I do? Just at that moment, just when she was making up her mind to call Rick, in her peripheral vision, she saw a person's silhoeutte. She heard a voice speaking, seemingly to her: "Hey, what you doing here? Hey, Sasha. Your name's Sasha, right?"
She turned to see who belonged to the voice. "You know me? Know who I am?" she asked hesitantly.
"Yeah," the man nodded, "I know you; know who you are. You Daryl's girl. You know me? Marco, I'm Marco. What you doin' in here by ya'self? You look like you fixin' to puke or something. . .what you doin' in here?" Sasha's stress level was instantly reduced. She couldn't believe it. . .finally, a stroke of luck. She hoped.
The silhouetted man was Marco-Marco DuBose-and Marco, as Daryl said, was " a good guy." He was actually a friend of both Dixons. "Daryl-I'm looking for him," she spoke as calmly and unemotionally as she could. She didn't want to raise suspicion about the situation, anymoresuspicion- her presence was suspicious enough. She knew Daryl and Merle were friends with Marco-that he was a part of all of Merle's "interests". She knew that. She knew they all rode, hunted, and ran together. She knew all that, but wanted to avoid any questions. She wasn't sure how Merle had come to be cut up and beat up; she was not going to take a chance with that information. Right now, she wasn't sure if Marco was friend or foe, but she needed his help.
"It's Marco, right? I've got to find Daryl. Has he been here tonight? Have you seen him? I really need to get him Merle is. . .," she didn't finish her sentence. "I've been calling his phone, but he hasn't answered. You know where he is?" She was sorry that she mentioned Merle by name. She was counting on the noise level to cover her mistake. It didn't.
At the mention of "Merle", Marco turned up his level of interest. "You say sumthin' 'bout Merle? What about him?" he asked.
"Nothing. I just need to get Daryl," she responded. Her tone was flat and artificial- unnatural. Her calm detachment was obviously over played; Marco was immediately unconvinced by Sasha's unconvincing performance.
"Like hell, 'nothing'! C'mon, now. . . I heard you. You said 'Merle'-now what about 'im?" he said in response to her attempt at avoidance.
The two of them, Marco and Sasha, were getting stares, and what seemed to Sasha, a few whispers. She was silently considering how much time had passed. She would have to trust someone who, to her, was a virtual stranger. It was she who was now out of options; she had no choice.
"He's hurt. . . Merle, I mean; he's hurt. . .bad, I think. I gotta find Daryl!"
"Hurt? How. . .what cha mean, 'hurt'?
"He's cut or stabbed or both! I don't know! He's at my house! I just gotta get back. . . get Daryl! I have to get Daryl and get back!" she almost yelled. "God! Have you seen him? Seen Daryl?"
"He was in here, for a little while. He was in an 'unfrirendly' mood. Pissed off 'bout sumthin'-you, I guess. Said he was gonna go check the deer blind."
"Shit! The woods? He went out in the woods? That's why I couldn't get him on his phone! Oh, God! What am I gonna do? He won't go to a hospital!" Sasha bounced from thought to thought. "He may be bleeding out-like, right now! Where'd he go. . .up to that hunting camp-to, what'd you say, the deer blind? You know where? Rick will know. Just tell me how long ago. . ."
"Nuh-uhn, no! That cop? Hell, fucking no! Go back to Merle; I'll get Daryl." Marco was insistent. He noticed Sasha's hesitation, her reluctance to accept his help while he was simutaeously dismissive of Rick's. It occurred to Marco: She knows that Rick dude, not me. "Go on, now," he said. "No time for runnin' down that sheriff. He could be in Bum-fuck, Egypt. Go to Merle," he softened his tone of voice. "I'll find Daryl. I'll get him. I promise. Be cool." With reluctance, but relief, Sasha accepted the reality of the circumstances and Marco's help. She'd have to trust him. "Thank you," she finally said and turned to leave.
When she was on her way back home, back to Merle, back to God-knows-what, Sasha's mind was on Daryl. Now, she was thinking about his reaction to what had happened to Merle. She was thinking about how he would respond to his brother being caught out, caught out without having his brother at his back. She was starting to wonder about how Daryl would feel. Sasha knew he would feel responsible, blame himself because he was not with Merle. In Sasha's mind, that would lead him to blame her-blame his relationship with her. She squeezed the stirring wheel and tried to shake the thoughts that were creeping into her mind away. He won't want this anymore-won't want me anymore. He's gonna run. . . what Merle said, "quit" me. She wiped her eyes, clearing them of tears; she needed to see to drive. And, she didn't want to be sobbing when she got back to Merle. She offered a silent plea as she drove on, alone, through the darkness: "Don't let that happen!" she prayed. "What can I do? I don't want that to happen. He is everything to me now, everything I am about."
Chapter 4:
Bad Boys and Bull Hockey
As Sasha was driving back to her house, not knowing what she would find-driving back to unknown circumstances, she realized that helping Merle, required help. She couldn't call Rick; she had assured Merle she wouldn't. That left Tyrese, her brother. He was miles away in Tennessee. He couldn't be of immediate help. But her big brother knew how to find the person who could be. And, the who, she needed was just a phone call-and a few miles, away. Without Ty's help, it may as well have been on the dark side of the moon. But, if she called him, and Ty was living, he would answer. She called him; he answered.
Tyrese knew how to find Abraham who could find Jackson. Jackson Tobias was the one she needed; the one Merle needed. He was at one time, a doctor. A legal doctor no longer because of pills and injections for football players. Abraham would come if Sasha needed him. He was Tyrese's friend, but more importantly, he had feelings, strong ones, for Sasha for a long time. He was in love with her. Sasha heard a car drive into her front yard. More company, but this time, welcomed. She almost ran to the door. Once the call had been made, Abraham Ford was a Sasha's door with Jackson, the one-time doctor, in tyow.
Sasha was immediately relieved. "Thank God!" she whispered. She opened the door just before Abraham knocked. She looked at a grinning Abraham, "Hey, sweet darlin'. I been waitin' to hear from you. When Ty called me, I said, 'Damn, you finally got lucky. She is ready for me. I know it without a doubt.' I said to myself, 'Whatever kinda bull hockey this is that's going on, turds or bubbles, whatever, it's just a way to bring me and that sweet honey dip together.' Took you long enough. Been waitin' a long time, I was thinking that this was never gonna happen. But here you are, and here I am. Fate. So, Ty said you needed me to find this, what do they call 'em . . . 'healthcare provider'? I knew this was my chance to show you. Show you that your sweet, creamy mocha needs the accompaniment of the ginger snap, crackle, and pop-me."
"Please, Abe, don't do that; not now. For God's sake, come in, both of you," she grabbed Abe's forearm and pulled him inside. "Hey, Jackson. I'm so glad they found you!"
"Hey, Sasha. Yeah, they can always track me down-this one and your brother. You got some kinda trouble. Don't you? Hell'a trouble if I'm here instead of some crackhouse or whorehouse or sleazebag motel or something. What the hell is going on?"
"My friend's brother, my boyfriend's brother; he's hurt. He's in there," she pointed toward the bedroom, "asleep or, maybe, passed out; I don't know which. He needs a hospital, but won't go. I can't let anything happen to him, anything else happen to him. He's an asshole, a racist asshole, but asshole or not, he's his brother. I hope you can help him; you gotta try!"
Jackson followed Sasha into the bedroom, followed by a shagrinned Abe. "'Boyfriend'? Abe interjected but Sasha ignored. Merle was just as Sasha had left him nearly two hours before. She approached the bed and gently shook Merle; she softly called his name. He did not respond to either.
Jackson took a different approach. "What's his name?" he asked a frightened and nerverous Sasha.
"Merle," she replied.
Jackson reached out and lifted Merle's arm at his wrist, checking his pulse. "Merle. . . Merle, can you hear me?" he asked in a clear, distinct voice. Merle did not respond in anyway. "Well, he's not dead. Jackson checked Merle's pupils with the light pen he pulled from his pocket. "Pulse is steady, but a little slow. Probably the loss of blood. Let me look at the cut."
Jackson pulled a pair of gloves out of his pocket, put them on, and started to peel back some of what was stanching the blood flow. He look at Sasha and asked, "You stuff all this in here? You did good. That's a deep wound, a slash. Looks like someone stabbed him then twisted whatever blade went in. He bled a lot. I think he. . ."
Sasha interrupted Jackson's thought, "Can you help him? Is he gonna be okay? "
"I was going to say, I don't think it hit an organ or a major artery, nothing hurt internally. And, you slowed down the bleeding. He's damn lucky on both accounts. I got some stuff with me, but Im'ma have to stitch him up, way deep, and I don't have all that stuff with me. Gotta get it."
"Thank God!" Sasha said with some relief.
"He needs fluids right now, though.. That's why he's out. Dehydration and shock. He was beat up? Must'a been a real fight. I see bruises and a split lip. He must be a real charmer. I got stuff for a drip."
Just as Jackson was finishing his statement, Sasha heard the familiar sound of Daryl's truck. She exhaled her relief, "Daryl! Thank God!" She left the two of them, Abraham and Jackson, standing there and rushed outside. "'Boyfriend?'" Abraham repeated.
Daryl was driving across the gravel, throwing up dust and rocks, as he come to a stop directly in front of Sasha's front porch. Sasha stepped onto the gravel drive as Daryl was stepping out of his truck. He slammed the door shut and looked at Sasha with a mix of confusion and trepidation. He chewed his lip and took a tentative step toward Sasha. "
"He here?"
Sasha nodded, "Yeah, he's here. I'm sorry, I tried to find you."
"He say what happened?"
"No," Sasha said. "He was just there-at the door. She put both her hands in the center of his chest and he leaned down to touch their foreheads together. The physical contact, Sasha's touch, was enough to ease the growing tension Daryl was feeling. He raised his head to kiss her forehead, then returned his head to rest on hers.
"Sorry 'bout this. Sorry this happened. Sorry I wh'nt here, sorry 'bout bein' out poutin'."
Sasha rubbed her hands up and down Daryl's chest, then made semicircles in opposite directions with her palms flat against his chest. She was serruptitously feeling his breath, his heartbeat. "Daryl, don't be sorry; it's not something you did, not your fault." She kissed his lips. "I'm glad Marco found you. Come inside."
When Daryl walked inside, he saw a large, red-headed man glaring at him. "'Bout time. She been waitin' on you to get here. Scared and cryin' and waiting."
Daryl was silent. He glared back. He didn't respond or take his eyes off Abraham. He spoke to Sasha as he continued to glare at Abe. "Where's he at?" he asked her. She answered from where she stood behind him, "He's in the bedroom." She stepped around him and lead the way as she explained about Abraham and Jackson.
"Daryl, that's Abraham. A friend of mine and Tyrese's. I needed Jackson for Merle. That's Jackson."
They walked into the bedroom to see Jackson again examining Merle"s injury. "You must be Daryl. Your, brother, is it?-your brother is cut pretty bad, pretty deep. Gonna have to take some stitches-quite a few, I think. I don't think he'll need to be transfused; we'll see. He's unconscious right now. But, he seems to be a strong man. As long as he doesn't get an infection, he should be okay."
"You a doctor?" Daryl asked, looking down at Merle, then over at Jackson.
Jackson looked at Sasha then back at Daryl. "Yeah. Tonight I am. Be right back."
"What the hell he mean by that, by 'tonight I am'? What he mean by that? He a doctor or not?" Daryl asked Sasha.
"He is, Daryl. Just not a "legal" one, not anymore. I needed them, Daryl-for Merle. He wouldn't go to a hospital! I called Tyrese. He called Abraham. Abraham found Jackson. They came."
"Who's Abraham? That guy out there? The one talkin' shit. He Abraham?"
"He played football with Tyrese. He lives that kinda life. He fixes things, gets things, does things. Don't be mad about that. I needed them for Merle."
Daryl put his arm around Sasha's shoulder and then pulled her closer. He encircled her with his arms and kissed her forehead. "I'm not mad. You did good."
Jackson returned and started to set up an IV drip for Merle. He took the shade off of a floor lamp and removed the bulb. He used it to hang the IV bag. "I have to see someone about the sedatives. I shouldn't be more than half an hour. Just let me get this drip started. Don't go messin' with the bandage. He's bleeding pretty bad."
After Merle was sedated and his wound stitched and closed, Sasha was able to let down her guard down. She was glad to be able to tamp down her vigilance, glad someone was there to share that burden. Merle was getting the help he needed; Jackson was there for that. She was no longer worried that someone would show up to finish what they had started with Merle; Abe had experience in handling situations like that. And, Daryl, Daryl was there; as far as she was concerned, that made all things right with the world. She was ready to sleep.
The rest of that first night, was tense and sleepless. Daryl stayed in the bedroom with Merle, sitting on the window seat. Jackson stayed with Merle, his patient, too-dozing in the easy chair. Sasha slept on the couch in the living room. Abraham sat up all night, in case she needed him. He was sitting across from her, when mornng came. She slowly blinked awake and focusd her eyes on the figure she didn't immediately recognize as Abe.
"'Boyfriend?'" he said for the third time, to a barely awake Sasha. She stretched and popped her toes. She raised herself on an elbow.
"Abe, please, no," she said with a head shake. "Too early." She sat up and started to fold the comforter.
"That guy? For piss and fucking pound cake, Sasha. Really? That guy? With this cut-up brother? Can't be." Abe was unhappy about Sasha claiming Daryl as her boyfriend. He was not a demur person, at all. He told her his thoughts: "What kind of fuckery is that? He ain't the one for you. You telling me you wasting all your buttery brown beauty on this honky tonk reject? You doin' some kind of penance or something? This is way off, you with this backwoods bad boy. That's all the crazy! That's creepy clown kinda crazy! You just messin' with me; that's it. Just messin' wit' me. 'Cause I been pissin' around instead of having my mind on you-making you and me a 'we' ."
"Abe, you need to stop it. He is not a 'reject'. Daryl, his name is Daryl, is thoughtful and sweet. He is so good to me. He takes good care of me. So, yeah, 'that guy', my guy," she said definitively. He is my boyfriend."
"Why you having to deal with this bullshit, then?"
"This have nothing to do with Daryl. This is all Merle."
" 'All Merle.', " he pointed his finger back and forth at her, "but, at your doorstep. In your house. You pickin' a tweaker like him-can't believe that, that-bull hockey! Tell me the real reason why. He turn you out or something?"
Sasha stood up and inhaled deeply. She spoke in a sultry, sensual voice in response to Abe's assertion. "Yeah, that's right. He on fleek in every way-every way and every day. Make my toes curl. Hit the high note. He can get it anytime, any way. That what you want me to say?" she snapped. They were both quiet, arms folded across their chests. After a long, awkward moment, she said, "Abe, he is not a 'tweaker'-and, he not freakin' me; it's the other way 'round.
He stood, more affected by her overtly sexual words than he expected. "So, you rehabbing this guy, huh? Giving him an upgrade, one helluva upgrade. Damn, Sasha! You breakin' my heart!"
"Abe, stop it. You were never really serious about your feelings for me, anyway. Are you trying to tell me you were. . .are? Don't say that, you can't make me think you were. Don't tell me that. I never thought you were. I thought it was all just playin'; just flirting or teasing me or whatever, just your big talk, but not serious."
"No, I was waiting on you to let me know you were ready-ready to give us , give me, a chance. I couldn't just grab you and stick my tongue in your. . .throat. I just knew you thought the two of us were gonna fall in love," he said. After a heavy sigh, he added, " 'Boyfriend' or not, I still believe that."
"Abe, that's not gonna happen."
"You scared? Scared to be with me?" He walked closer and closer to her.
"No, no," she stood her ground with him. "If you were the one for me, I'd let you know. I would have no problem letting you know. Believe me."
Abraham considered for a moment. He knew he was not going to change Sasha's mind about him or Daryl. He wanted his relationship with Sasha to remain in tact, undamaged, and special; he accepted what she was saying to him. He said no more. "So, I'm the "non-boyfriend, huh?" he joked. "For now, that is, for now. Ty know 'bout him? 'Bout your 'boyfriend'?"
"Tyrese is not my dad," Sasha told him boldly. "I am well grown. But, yeah, I've mentioned Daryl to him."
"You good? Good with all this and this guy, then? And. . .whoever did this?"
"Yes, Abe. I don't need a bodyguard or anything like that. Like I said, this is all Merle. Bae got me."
"Darlin', we're here, though. I beat him here," Abe pointed out. "Tell me again how he 'got' you?"
"He came, Abe. I needed him, and he came."
"Bull hockey, Sasha! You got to be fuckin' kiddin' me! This is a bunch of bull hockey! He's the one needed you! You see what I'm sayin'? Ain't no. . ."
"Yeah, he did. He my boo. And, I got him, too. I got him right back!" Sasha took a deep breath. "Abe," she said, "I don't want to talk to you about this anymore. Let's just drop it."
"All right, all right. If you say so; I'll mind my own business." Abe breathed in and raised his shoulders, looking thoughtfully, and longingly, at Sasha. "Dumped and dismissed. You didn't gentle me into it at all. Crushed my dream of ginger and cinnamon. You know I'm not gonna go 'gently into that good night'. Just so you know, I'm keepin' hope alive. I'll be waitin' and watching, 'cause I know we are meant to be. Darlin', it's just a matter of time. Im'ma haul ass, before somebody else winds up all beat up and cut up."
"You're going? But, what about Jackson, and. . .and, everything?"
"Your 'boyfriend' got this. Right? You need me, call; I'll be around."
"Of course, you're right, you're right. Thank you, Abe." Sasha raised herself on her toes and kissed Abe's lips. "I mean it, thank you. You're a life saver," Sasha said while her lips were still an inch away from Abe's. Abraham pressed a languid kiss on Sasha's lips that conveyed his disappointment and desire.
"That was sweet, sweet as honey," he said. He raised his fingers in a "duece" as he backed away from her. "A 'lifesaver' but not your hero. Yo! Jax!" he yelled. "You ready?"
Jackson appeared in the doorway. "You go on, Abe. Gotta stay a while longer. A few hours more. He's doing good, but have to stay until he wakes up." Jackson was a doctor, with or without his lisence.
"Okay, Doctor. Sasha's 'boyfriend' will get you where you need to go. I'm out." He looked at Sasha, folded his lips in and gave a shake of his head. "Bull hockey."
After another three hours, Merle was awake, briefly. He opened his eyes for a few minutes. He saw that Daryl was now there. He was groggy; Jackson said it was the sedation. Now, that Merle was awake, Jackson would know better how he would do. "Merle, you know where you are? Know who you are?"
"Hell, yes I know where I am. Know who I am. Who the hell are you? Baby Girl, I see you found him." And he was asleep again. "
When he awakened again an hour later, he asked for water. Jackson gave him the water. He took that as a good sign. "I'll go now, but he's gonna need a few days to heal. Those stitches are deep, don't want him ripping them. You up to looking after him a couple three days?" he asked Sasha.
"Of course, we both will." Daryl was so happy that Sasha said what she said the way she said it: "we both will." He thought his heart might burst; it was filled with so much love for Sasha. He didn't know he had that much love inside him. He was filled to overflowing. He thought he might cry.
After a set of instructions and an exchange of numbers, Jackson was gone. Picked up by two women in an older model Cadillac. "My chariot awaits. I'll be back in three days, but call if you need me. Be good, now."
Now, it was just Daryl and Sasha. . .and Merle. Jackson was no longer in charge of care for his patient. Abe, too, was gone. Gone but not forgotten, especially by Daryl. Daryl wanted Sasha to know he noticed that Abe had a lot to say. Daryl knew the reason Abe had so much to say about anything to do with Sasha. He wanted Sasha to know that he noticed, know that he knew. And, didn't like it.
"He likes you. . .that guy, Abe," Daryl said. "He likes you-a lot. Wants you."
Sasha looked at Daryl and nodded, "Yeah, he does. Has for a while now."
"But you not wit' him. You were tho'?"
"He would've liked me to be, but, umm, no," she shook her head. "Unh-unh. No."
"He's your brother's friend, played football. He'd be good to you. Give you everything you want, everything you deserve. Why not?"
"You just want me to say it. Don't you?
"Hell, yeah. Jus' want you to say it. Want to hear it."
Sasha shook her head then shrugged her shoulder, " 'Cause he's not you," she said. "And, I was waiting, I guess. Waiting for you. And, see, you came," she spoke to him in a hushed voice. She was almost whispering; her words were for him-only him. "Daryl, he's not here; you are. He's gone; you're here. It's you I want, not him."
Daryl kissed Sasha forcefully, deeply, passionately. "You say that to me, you better mean it. . . don't be lyin' to me 'bout that. Don't lie."
"I'm not lying, Daryl. I love you. You are so good to me. But," she was hesitant to say what she was thinking, "well, you don't blame me, do you? Blame me for not being there. . .with Merle, I mean. . .when all this happened? You would've been. God, maybe got hurt yourself." The possibility that Daryl could have been hurt, occurring to her as she spoke, gave her chills. "I don't want to think about that," she said shaking her head and the thought away. "But, you would've been able to help him. Maybe none of this would've happened if you had been with him."
Daryl drew in as much oxygen as his lungs would hold, then blew it out with uncustomary sound effects. He pressed Sasha close to him and stared a long moment into her eyes. "You think I think that you was holdin' me back from bein' wit' Merle on one of his pick ups or deals? That what you thinkin'? That you was keepin' me from 'havin' his back' or some shit like that? He got caught up in his own bullshit. That's all. He been pressin' his luck a long time."
"But, you would have been there, Daryl, you would have been with him. If we weren't together, you would have been there to help him."
"I quit ridin' wit' him for all that shit way before you and me. He say that to you? He tell you that?"
Sasha quickly shook her head. "No, not at all. But he thinks I'm no good for you. I just don't want you to blame me or think I want to keep you two apart; I don't. I would never do that; he's your brother."
"I know that. He does, too. Merle is my brother, but you?. . .you my girl. You're my whole world-and everything that's good in it." Daryl spoke from his heart. "Sasha, I'm all out of bullshit when it comes to you. Want you to know I ain't lookin' for nobody or nothing else; for me-you, us,, THIS, is it. You did all this for Merle, for me. I'm a lucky sumabitch-the luckiest sumabitch alive. I call you 'baby' and you answer. Say back, 'Yeah, huh, my sweet Daryl?'-to me. I see how this Abe guy was lookin' at you; I wanna fuck 'im all the way up. Can't have non'a that bullshit from no motherfucker-not 'bout you-no. fucking. way. I need every motherfucker to know that. I was waitin' for you, too. I just didn't know it."
Chapter Five: Truce and Consquences
It was just after six in the morning; the house was still dark. Sasha was using the soft light over the stove to move around in the kitchen. Except for the bathroom light, and the intermittent light from the refrigerator, it was the only light on. She didn't want to wake Daryl as he slept a few feet away in the living room. She was making coffee for herself and Daryl, and their house guest.
She was so happy that Daryl was actually sleeping. It made her smile when she made her way into the living room and saw him lying on the couch with his boots on. "That's where you went," she said to him, though he could not hear her. He had gotten up at around four thirty; she was used to him waking well before the sun was up-he left her sleeping to check on Merle. She heard the screen door open and, then, Merle's voice. He was curtly pointing out to Daryl that he didn't "need no checkin'!" Sasha didn't hear anymore of what Merle didn't need, she was, again, asleep. Merle had spent the last two nights on the side porch-refusing to sleep inside. Even though he had slept inside for seven nights straight, he announced he was healed and no longer needed a bed.
The first night of the "campout," Daryl told Sasha he was going to sleep on the porch with Merle-"jus' in case," he told her. Sasha thought they were both silly. "Sleeping outside when there are empty beds? That's ridiculous, but, hey, whatevs! I'm going to sleep-in a bed!" After about half an hour, Daryl joined her in bed-his attention and company roundly rejected by Merle. "He told me: 'go on back inside,'. . .said, " she might need you for sumthin'.' "
That was the night before last, and this morning, Merle was in the bathroom. He was getting his sea legs, so to speak. He was testing whether or not he was himself again and if he was ready to get back to whatever it was he did. He walked into the dimly lighted kitchen. Sasha's greeting to him was soft in tone and quiet in volume. The volume for Daryl, the tone for Merle. He needed that approach. Anything else was an immediate spiral into tension and raised voices.
"Hey, Merle, good morning. How you feeling? You want coffee?"
"Hey, Baby Girl." (Sasha was now "Baby Girl" to Merle.) "Mornin'," he said, wiping his hands on a towel. "I'm feeling damn fine. Good as new. No, don't want no coffee. Where's that baby brother of mine?"
"He's sleeping. Shh," she held her finger to her lips, "-in there, on the couch. You getting ready to go or something? You leaving?"
"Yeah. It's 'bout time for me to stop layin' 'round here on my lazy ass. 'Sleepin'?' What the hell? Time for that boy to have his sorry ass up and doin'. Sleepin'! The day ain't goin' back. . ."
Sasha interrupted him, "Quiet-you're gonna wake him up. Merle," Sasha shook her head, "don't say that about him. You sure it's a good idea? Leaving, I mean."
"I got shit to take care of. Ain't got no business havin' you takin' care of me anyway." He paused a moment, then continued, "You did good, Baby Girl, takin' care of me. Didn't expect to have me show up on your front porch, cut up and bleedin', did you?"
"It definitely wasn't what I expected. You scared the shit outta me," she laughed to lessen the awkwardness. "But, Merle, I'm glad. . .I mean, that you came here. Even if it was just to find Daryl. . .I get it. I was glad. . .not glad you were hurt; you know what I mean."
"Yeah, I know," he said, as he filled his mug with coffee. Sasha had mugs set out and ready for the three of them. So, Merle accepted her offer of coffee, in a roundabout way. He poured his own; he didn't want her serving him, not after nine days of her nursing him.
This morning, Merle was not worried about being back on his feet. This morning, he had something else on his mind; something he needed to say-something he had to say. He had to say it before the moment passed. This moment was as right as it would ever be. He leaned back against the counter and took a sip of coffee. He spoke plain and clear- no hesitation.
"Remember what you told me the night I came here? You remember what you said?"
"I remember, I think. I was scared out of my mind" - her breath coming quickly as she remembered, "but, yeah, I remember. When I said I would try to love you, too. That what you're talking about?"
"Yeah. You mean that? W'nt no bullshit, was it?" he asked her.
"I did, Merle. I meant it. No bullshit when it comes to Daryl. Never. Daryl is the most important thing in my life. In yours too; I'm thinking. I love him. Whether you believe it or not. And, he doesn't need anymore pain. He deserves better." She, too, spoke plain and clear-no hesitation. "You do, too," she added.
Merle took another sip of coffee and shook his head, "Don't know 'bout all that, but if you meant it, w'nt bullshittin' me or nothin'," he paused a moment, "then, If you can try. . .I can too."
Sasha looked at Merle. Merle looked at Sasha for a long moment. The two stared at each other in quiet reflection, eye-to-eye. After what felt like an eternity, she answered him, "I can, Merle, I can. You being serious? You mean it?"
Merle stood silent, another long moment passing. Then, with a single definitive nod of his head, "Wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it." Another sip of coffee and he took a step, then another toward Sasha. "I'll make you a promise, Baby Girl. I'll try my damnedest to mend my white trash ways and act like somebody around you-be just as proper as I know how, if you do two things, two more, things for me." Sasha was listening intently to what Merle was saying. She nodded in agreement, but subtle apprehension, about the "two things" he might ask of her. She held her breath waiting. "Keep on being good to him; you're right about him deserving better" he said gesturing toward the living room and a sleeping Daryl, "and, you let me off the hook, let me make it up to you. . . and you forgive me for how I treated you-all the bullshit I said and did before right now."
Sasha smiled as she realized what Merle was asking, telling her, really. Tears pooled in her eyes. She refused to let the tears escape-she only nodded in agreement. She managed to utter a faint "okay" to Merle's unexpected offer. "You came through for me," he said. "Did me a solid. Thank you. I take back all the bullsh. . .-crap, bullcrap I said to you before. Sorry for all the times I showed my a- . . . .uh, hind end. I owe you. . .more than you know. Much obliged."
Just as Sasha and Merle were ending their talk, Daryl walked into the kitchen. Sasha squeezed her eyes closed and smiled at them both. Daryl sensed he had walked onto something happening between Sasha and Merle. He wasn't sure what; he was instantly on guard. Merle preempted Daryl's questions, "Im'ma get on outta here; know you got plenty to do, Baby Girl. Don't need me gettin' in the way and don't need no more pettin'; gotta go. Bye, Baby Girl," he said to her. As he passed a silent, staring, confused Daryl, he said over his shoulder, " 'Bout time you got your ass up, boy. Half the day's gone."
"Bye, Merle." Sasha said. "And, Merle, that's three things."
Sasha kissed a still silent Daryl and hugged him around his waist. With her smile reaching megawatt proportions, she said, "Good morning, my sweet Daryl. Want some coffee?"
"Yeah," Daryl accepted her offer of coffee. "What was y'all talkin' 'bout? You okay? He w'nt actin' up, was he? Bein' mean to you? I told him. . ."
"No, Daryl. He wasn't being mean," she said quickly. She paused, then said, "He thanked me; for taking care of him," she said and handed Daryl his cup of coffee. "He thanked me," her voice reflecting the smile on her face.
Daryl jerked his head around in the direction of Merle's exit and shook his head in disbelief. Just at that moment, they heard the roar of Merle's motorcycle. Daryl was silent and on the verge of tears himself. Sasha rubbed his bare bicep, kissed his cheek and smiled a teary smiled. Daryl sat his mug on the counter, "Be right back. Gotta take a piss," he said and left the kitchen. Sasha heard the front door open then close. Daryl rushed outside; his bladder could wait. He wanted to catch Merle before he left. He had to confirm what Sasha had said.
"Hey, hold up a minute," he shouted. "You headed out? Where ya goin'? Wait and I'll go wit' ya; jus' gotta take a piss."
"Ain't got time. Don't need you taggin' 'long behin' me anyway. Besides, Baby Girl's gonna have a full breakfast fixed for you in a few minutes. Go on back in there and eat it."
"Come on back in an' eat wit' us."
"Nah, been hangin' 'round here too long as it is. Been nice, tho'. Havin' somebody worried 'bout whether I eat or not. Havin' her worry 'bout me. You damn lucky to have her. Treat her right or I'll have to kick your ass."
"Where you headed?" Daryl asked again.
"Nowhere in particular. Jus' gettin' back at it." Merle revved the engine of his motorcycle.
"Hey, I got a semi I'm tryna help a guy get back on the road. Could use some help. Come by the shop in a few days-help me wit' it?"
"Yeah, maybe. In a coupla, three days. Got some shit to take care of first."
"You know you gon' need my help wit' that. You know that, right?" Daryl said. "You can't 'take care of it' by yourself."
"Like hell, I can't! 'M not fixin' to get no posse to take care of the motherfucker I need to take care of. Jus' one. He got my full attention."
"You think you made of steel or something? You just got stitched up."
"Hell, boy, Baby Girl got me all fixed up, good as new. Like I told her, she did a damn fine job. She's a fine woman. Jus' the type of woman you need, jus' the right girl for you."
Daryl was silent. He was taking in what Merle was saying. "You being funny? Talkin' shit? You mean it?" he asked.
"No. No bullshit when it comes to Baby Girl. . .Sasha. Wouldn't say it if I didn't mean. Gotta go. After while, come find me; help ya get that semi back on the road."
When Daryl went back inside, Sasha was putting eggs onto two plates and taking toast out of the oven. Daryl stood and watched "just the right girl" moving around in the kitchen. When he didn't say anything, she looked over at him. "Is Merle gone? Did he leave? You want to eat now? You hungry?"
Daryl walked over to Sasha and kissed her, lifting her off the floor. "I'm hungry, but not for them damn eggs." He squeezed Sasha's ass and put his mouth on one of her breasts. Her nipples were instantly erect. He raised his lips to her neck and kissed her mouth again.
Sasha pulled her lips away from Daryl's mouth. "I'm glad they gone. I missed this. I missed you. I don't want any eggs, either."
END